


Fishman's Luck

by CobaltCube (2sp00ky4y0u)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: I Hope You Guys Like Sharks, M/M, Semi-Explicit Gore, Slow Build, mermaid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2sp00ky4y0u/pseuds/CobaltCube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was evening, he was driving home after work, and a quick walk through the pier sounded like a fine idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Was Worth the Extra Fifteen Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> I was spurred to write this after reading someone else's mermaid Gav piece, to see what my own take on the mermaid idea would be like. Turns out I ended up banging more words out of the keyboard than I thought. 
> 
> The title was inspired by that of one of Henry Van Dyke's short story collections, _Fisherman's Luck_. Because I'm that gosh-darned clever, or something.

Michael liked the pier. It was a place to recalibrate himself, y’know? With the sloshing of the waves, the dark smudges of fish underneath the water's surface, a breeze pushing at your back and the clang of ropes against the masts, it was easy to get lost in yourself. Not so sound like an introspective hippy-dippy moron, but it was true. 

His old home state had their shoreline, and even though it smelled like waterlogged evil most of the time Michael still enjoyed it when he visited, so when he packed his shit and moved to Texas he wondered if he would get to visit the pier again. It was a dumb question, yeah, the kind that you could just answer to yourself, “Of course I’ll get to see it again, it’s not like I’ve been banned from water forever”, but there it stayed anyways. After all, even a loud-mouthed Yankee needed a while to himself and nature, or whatever they call it. So whenever he got the free time to do it, Michael would take a drive down to the beach for a spell, for a walk. 

This time he decided to drive an extra fifteen minutes to a smaller venue. 

When he got out of the car, he remembered how he liked most of the ways that Texas was different, like how they actually tried to keep their shores clean so Michael didn’t feel like he was getting teabagged by Davey Jones every time he was within a mile radius of the water. The people were way nicer too. He never quite got over the culture shock of that and figured he probably never will. 

Even now as Michael leaned over the rail on the pier, he could just see how much more chilled out they were: no thousand yard stare straight through your soul, easy smiles, words such as “please” and “thank you” actually being in their vocabulary, the works.

Between this, a mellow sun on his back, and the din of the pier, he found himself in a tiny personal pocket of zen before he knew it, a kind of personal clarification where problems only existed as abstract concepts. If they were locations, Michael might describe them as “somewhere over there, probably in Shitsville, Kansas, I don’t fuckin’ know”. 

He knew that this distance wouldn’t last forever, because the sky was getting dark and it was a twenty minute drive from here to his house, but eh. Take whatever you can while you can.

A fingerling scooped up a gnat hovering just over the water. He gave a little smile, ran a hand through his hair and checked his phone for the time. Eight fourteen. He probably should’ve been heading back to his car about now, but instead he turned his head and saw a dock that lanced right through the waters, a wooden toothpick floating in the distance that was built for personal fishing crafts. Compared to its modern siblings, it was both decrepit and endearingly antiquated. And aside from a pontoon that was pulling out it was empty of both boats and people since everyone else was either leaving, heading into nearby bars and restaurants, or piling up into rentals that were docked elsewhere. 

_Yeah, what the hell. I guess I can go walk over there for a second._

Michael began walking to the little dock, smirking at himself because he probably looked shady as fuck, because why would a guy need to go to that shitty thing while the sun was going down unless he was checking on a body he dumped there last week? Or maybe he was just making himself look weird by smirking at how weird he thought he looked, and in fact he seemed totally innocuous up until the smirking.

 _Ding, ding, ding ding._ His phone in his back pocket. He stopped to check who it was from. A group message, courtesy of Brandon. He rolled his eyes and kept walking. It must have taken a minute or two before he had reached the dock. Michael grimaced at how ratty it really was now that he had a better view of it, and between the dirty warped planks, the frayed rope railing, and the rusted metal siding, the self-doubt was very real. 

_Shit. Well, I made it this far. Might as well not waste my time._

Michael pulled out his phone again to turn on its flashlight. The beam was pretty weak with a lousy range, but it serviced for now. The sun was three quarters down the horizon and his car was at least ninety yards away. If someone wanted to murder him in cold blood, now was the time to do it. Michael threw a look behind him to make sure that no wannabe killers were in fact about to cut him, and was satisfied when there wasn’t a person within a good thirty foot distance. City habits never really die. He placed one foot onto the dock and froze when he heard the wood complain, felt it shift underneath his weight. He even held his breath for a second, even though it wouldn’t actually do jack in this case, because how would breathing impact his downward force?

_Oh my God, I’m going to fall through and drown if I actually fucking do this._

A flash of light from the top of his vision. He snapped his head back up, saw nothing.

_Probably just a wave or something. Gotta stop being so jumpy. Jesus, do I really want to do this? Should I just start composing my newspaper obituary now if worst case actually happens? This is so stupid…_

Michael kept himself still for another second before he sighed to himself. The hell is he doing. He’s chugged milk, chugged barbecue sauce, got tazed twice for charity, ran backwards down several flights of stairs, did a whole laundry list of other dumb shit, and he doesn’t want to go onto a dock because it’s kind of old. Worst case scenario would be that he falls through the planks and gets wet, oh my God, such a tragedy.

He steeled his will once again and took another step. _Creak_. Then he took another. _Creak_. And another. _Whiiine_. There was that flash again, still just the waves. And before he knew it Michael was standing out on the end, staring out into the ocean before him with its unfathomable depths. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

The waves pushed themselves against the dock, lapping against the bottom buoys that kept the whole thing afloat, and if he had to be honest with himself, it made Michael nervous with how it was rocking underneath him. He spaced his feet out to try stabilizing himself when he remembered that his phone’s flashlight was still on. The sun was almost completely underneath the horizon, so he probably wasn’t going to shut it off soon, but his battery was running low and he definitely should start heading back to the car now. He checked the time. Eight twenty five. And what was that group message about? Some dumb bullshit as usual.

He stole a glance at the waters while reading the texts and saw something slide by underneath the surface just as he looked. Huge. Really huge. A grey fin splitting the seas.

_Shark._

In retrospect, he could’ve pinpointed the very moment when he stopped being a civilized, modern human being in the twenty-first century and went back to a scared animal in the wild. It felt like all of his blood had been pumped out and replaced with adrenaline while still leaving _juuuuust_ enough rationality for two options: stand there like an idiot or run back to the mainland. The thing circled back around like it was parading all nine feet of its body. Like it was spelling out for Michael _You’re fucked._

Michael did a perfect one-eighty and hauled ass as best as he could. A brisk walk was the fastest he could go – any faster and he risked breaking the planks or throwing off the dock’s balance and potentially flipping it. For a second he slowed down a hair to look behind him, angling his phone’s flashlight down into the water. The beam was barely enough to even touch it, and all it did was reveal a long black shape, still just as shark-like as he remembered.

_Oooooh my fucking God it’s following me, I’m so fucking dead, I’m done and the company is going to know I got eaten by a shark because I’m a total idiot and walked out in the middle of the water alone and no one is going to be here to help if I fall in._

After nearly a hundred years of walking he finally hit concrete, solid ground. Safe at last. He felt like throwing up, but he made it. So Michael did the most rational thing: flip off the shark with both middle fingers and yell “Fuck you fish! Eat shit!” Luckily for him anyone that was nearby was too wasted to really care, but one guy did get a video of it.

Whatever. Fuck him and fuck the ocean.

He stood there, still grinning wide because he slammed the door in Death’s face with gusto, and for a few more seconds he watched the shark loop back around to swim underneath the dock, beside it, going all the way back to the end before coming round to where it connected with the mainland like it was trying to ponder something. Michael was too giddy to notice at first, but it had neither clipped the surface like it did when he first saw it, nor did it even come close enough to make a clear outline of itself. In fact, there was the sense that it was trying to keep itself scarce. It probably just knew that making yourself obvious also makes you a shitty predator.

The “pacing” went on for another lap around the dock before the creature slid back into whatever murky, Lovecraft-inspired depths it came from. By that time Michael was already on his way to his car, still trying to work out the shakiness from his legs but feeling good all-in-all. He definitely had a hell of a story to tell on the podcast tomorrow, that was for sure. Michael took a deep breath, exhaled, and went for his car keys when he realized how suspiciously light his pocket was.

_**Oh fuck you.** _

He immediately made haste back to the pier. And yeah, just as he suspected, there were those keys, sitting an inch away from the edge of the concrete where it dropped off into the depths. Probably fell out of his pocket while he was busy celebrating. Who knows, who cares. At least Michael got there before anyone else could (steal them). 

He walked over to the keys to pick them up when a giant black smudge caught his eye, passing underneath the disk of light from a lamp that dangled over the water. Ah yes. Shark friend. The one who tried to eat him about five minutes ago. It had returned to patrolling the area, probably eager to do better on its next attempt at a Michael Jones-themed entrée. He scoffed as he stood back up and shoved his keys into his hoodie pocket, but remained fixated there, kind of entranced by how smoothly the shark sliced through the sea. It served as a little fix of morbid fascination for the day. 

To think it had all been going well, too, as Michael had been turning away to head back to the lot with his weight just on the heel of his foot when the unfathomable happened. He underestimated the thing’s desperation. That is to say he wouldn’t have thought it to be his luck that it would leap out of the water to snatch him, plunging back down into the ocean with the man’s arm locked in its mouth. He didn’t even have time to scream.

As far as he knew, the struggle went on for maybe six or seven eternities, with enough terror to fill every single moment. In reality it was only about ten seconds, because it was also Michael's luck that a couple would’ve been taking a late night stroll through the pier and being close enough to witness the attack so that they could call nine-one-one. 

(To get a fuller scope of the situation, I recommend watching the second hand on a clock and then counting to ten. Next, imagine each of those counts being filled with shark teeth and gallons upon gallons of water frothy with your own blood.)

They rushed onto the scene where, yea, Michael was putting up a hell of a fight, trying to punch at the thing’s nose and eyes like the tough guys do in those Internet stories, and he managed to disorient it enough so that he could pull himself away and drag his upper half onto the dock with his good arm. But between how he was losing blood like it was no one’s business, nearly drowning, the second adrenaline rush of that night, and shock, the likelihoods of anything good were slim. The couple managed to lift him out of the danger zone where his attacker was still churning the waters, now black with a red tint under the lamps, and had him lay down on his back over the same planks he used to walk past the Grim Reaper not even an hour ago. 

By the time the sirens were within spitting distance Michael was mumbling about, among other things, how his right arm looked like raw shredded pork.

“Dude… lookitmyarm, ooooh my God. I’m… Ohfuck. Thissis, thissis so fucked up man. I think I can see bone. Is it bone? Oh my God. Am I gonna… ‘m I gonna die doc?” Shock is a beautiful thing, because the paramedics knew that without it the rest of the county would’ve been turned into a scream ward by now. And they had to rely on it until he was stable enough to take proper painkillers because by the time they had him loaded on the ambulance his pulse couldn’t startle a butterfly. 

Between the homemade horror film playing out in live action and the rubberneckers that were gathering around the scene at a breakneck speed, who could’ve heard the one woman yelling about mermaids? Besides, it was time for the drunks to go home anyways. 

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was when everyone else realized she was dead sober.


	2. Ask Us About Our Liability Coverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It either is or it isn't, and as far as he could tell it probably wasn't. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's shorter than the last since it's primarily for establishing the conflict. I've never seen any media discussing how a mermaid would actually be treated by the greater public, especially if a government heard about it. Or maybe it has been discussed and I just don't know about it because my exposure to mermaids is restricted to movies and fanfiction. Or maybe it's because it's actually really boring to everyone except me. Who knows.
> 
> Regardless, feedback is deeply appreciated, anything from how I write the guys to the pacing to grammatical errors, as long as it's constructive. Remember, if you have an issue with this story, I can't improve unless you tell me what bugs you.

It took some fifty-odd stitches to sew Michael up, but that wasn’t what did him in. The real bitching started when they told him that he needed to be in a cast for a month and a half because his arm had also managed to get broken in two places. 

“Okay, look, I don’t even give a shit about how it’s going to affect work, because, like, seriously, how am I supposed to jerk off now?” He said when Burnie and a pack of co-workers stopped by the next day (“I was told one of my employees got a boo-boo because he was outside past dark and we wanted to make sure he didn’t die”; apparently the front desk was more than happy to move them all along to Michael’s room). 

“And also, how did I even break my arm like this? It’s like, the fates weren’t done with fucking me in the ass, so they decided, ‘Hey, let’s see if we can really fuck his shit up, just, go all out y’know, throw in some broken bones, whatever, he’ll deal with it’.” 

“Uh well, you know Michael, I thought that when I’d see you again, probably all stitched up and everything like you are right now, they’d be pumping you full of OxyContin or something for everybody’s sake, so uh, obviously luck isn’t looking so hot for us either,”

“What-the-fuck-ever Geoff! They told me I couldn’t be too doped up yet because they still need to give me some more blood to make up for how much I lost back there,”

Near the door, Jack grimaced. “Jesus. How much blood did you lose anyways? I heard it was like, almost a gallon. I mean, I can tell you're still looking pretty pale over there so, uh, it obviously had to have been a fucking lot." He didn't know they had him hooked up to his second pint of blood since he was admitted, but he didn't really want any of the numbers to confirm how close his friend had been to dying. That's what the doctors were there for, after all.

Michael shrugged as best he could. “Dunno man. Probably was a gallon. My nurse told me how it was all over the news and they were goin’ on with, like, how that part of the pier was just red fuckin’ everywhere, and I overheard one of the, uh, para-whatever-guys, ambulance people, talking about how it reeked. It was bad, man. But hey, good thing I wasn't really conscious for it am I right?” He lifted his hand to scratch a tickle in his stitched-up arm and stopped himself before he could. Great. Two more months of this shit. “Oh, and you know what’s even better? Apparently the smell of my blood attracted even more sharks, so now they have it closed off until everything gets cleared out.” 

“Oh wow. Bravo, Michael. Bet'cha feel really great about that right now.” 

He grinned. “You kidding me Ryan? I’m like a local celebrity 'n all it took was a fuckin’ fish trying to rip my limb off.” 

Burnie stood up from his seat bedside the bed (like a good, caring boss as he'd say later) to clap Michael on his good shoulder with a grin. "Well hey, at any rate we're glad you're still alive and yelling. Just take it easy for now, don't worry about work, get plenty of bed rest and all that good stuff... just don't take too fucking long with it, okay?"

Away from the hospital, the biggest struggle was saved for the ones responsible for cleanup, repairs, legalese, etc. since they knew it would be another day before that part of the pier could be opened again, but of course people still tried getting past the tape anyways. Mostly tourists, which was even worse because that meant little Jimmy was going to want to see the sharks too, and God have mercy on them all if a kid got ripped to shreds on top of the guy who had already been sent into the E.R. 

Speaking of that guy, it was pretty great that he wasn’t pressing charges for damages. But it quickly turned out the town wasn’t all the way into the clear like they had thought, for very unforseen reasons: somehow, they managed to grab the attention of the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department, and then shortly after, the Marine Biology Department of A&M Galveston. At least with an attack it was an open and shut case. Someone gets hurt, they either sue or they don't, the area gets fenced off for a while, done. And while the town was already dreading the weeks upon weeks of future complaints that their shores were dangerous and they had neglected to warn the public about it, now they have to deal with lab coats interfering because… because…

“It was just a weird shark, y’know.”

Twelve hours later after the attack on Austin resident Michael Jones had created a fissure in the story with two sides – one was about legality and public safety, and the other was whatever the guys and gals running all those tests were doing because they didn’t seem interested in talking. In fact, the more they were pressed, the less they wanted to divvy out information, and it wasn't like they were going to let the press breathe down their backs about it.

At least, that’s how the citizens heard it.

Between the professors and the state officials behind the scenes, there was plenty of whispering and exchanging of cards, and it wasn’t just because someone was attacked by a wild animal. On May seventeenth, nine fifteen PM, one of the men in suits was led by a head biologist out to the pier and shown what the problem really was, which had been trapped in a netted-off area. And when he looked down to where the woman was pointing, he wondered why her team seemed more surprised about how _Mustelus mustelus_ was “way out of its normal range” - that is to say, the half of it that was indeed _Mustelus mustelus_. It took a few moments for the lawyer to get all the words out, but they still came out in a mumbled mess that probably didn't make him sound like he was a law school graduate. A professional, if you will. 

“So uh… you, you guys caught yourselves a Disney movie now?”

Right.

“Yep. ‘S why we had to keep him away from the public and tape off this whole damn dock, paid all those guys keep away as many people as they can. Because if they knew we had a live mermaid on our hands, every government from bottom to top would be up our asses and in our labs.”

Of course, Michael didn’t know this yet. He didn’t know anything except how he decided he probably wasn’t going near large bodies of water anytime soon. Not to mention, he was still in the process of recollecting himself by piecing the bits of memories back together. Yet when he made a semi-coherent conclusion, the one closest to the truth of course, he just shook his head and wondered if he smoked crack that night without remembering it. 

_Maybe the lights were playing tricks on me. Maybe I’m remembering something wrong. What if it was just my imagination trying to freak me out?_ And so on. Meanwhile his attacker was being loaded up into a portable tank, the kind they used for aquariums, to be taken into the city for research. 

 

“Hey man, did you hear about how they’ve been getting a lot of science-y professor types at that dock now? It’s, uh, well, it’s pretty weird and people are getting suspicious, but they’ve just been saying they found a species that shouldn’t exist around here.”

“Jesus dude, just because I got bit doesn’t mean I suddenly have a magical connection with that shark. I’m not suddenly in-tune with every little fuckin’ thing about it. So what if a bunch of bigwigs are creeping around that place? Scientists are fuckin’ weird anyways, who cares.”

 

A few days later Mr. Jones was given the okay to go home, while miles away the biologists were arguing over whether or not to take biopsies, and from which half.


	3. End of Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk will only get you so far. Sometimes, it might even get you nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue is definitely a lot of fun to write, but I'm not sure if it was all the breaks they require that made this installation so long. I probably need to work on getting consistent chapter lengths, but then again I've read books that have had two page chapters as well as seven page chapters, sometimes one right after the other. Problem is that that's usually for storytelling effect. I don't have that excuse. 
> 
> BUT, I am advancing the plot closer to Team Fish Dynamite meeting for the first time. Get hyped at your own discretion, and then please comment any thoughts or critiques when you're done.

“And in these reports you said he might have a, uh, nictitating membrane? Were you able to get a closer look or are you just calling them as you spitballed?”

“Yes sir. We’ve been recording every move he makes for the past fifteen hours … as well as any breaths he takes, any bonds he breaks, and every swim he takes,”

“Hah. I remember that song. My sister played it at her wedding and danced with her dad to it. Never did understand why she chose that one out of all of the songs she could’ve gone with, but whatever…”

The specimen was turning lazy circles around the perimetre of his tank, as if he was taking a chance to study his captors as closely as they have him, and every time his eye would catch a scientist’s they would have to turn away, unnerved by its intelligence. It was downright uncanny. Fish aren’t smart, but people on the other are an entirely different kettle of-

“Crawford, have you gotten the results back from the blood tests? What do they say?”

The shuffling of papers. 

“Well they definitely tell us something new, but it’s, uh, not as out-there as I thought it’d be. I mean, it looks closer to shark blood in structure and function, but there’s a few ‘quirks’ that’re probably loaned from mammalian blood, like how the proteins-”

“Uh-huh. What about, uh, metabolism, thermal regulation, a specialized diet or any extra organs we should know about. Because those are the most important things we need to focus on right now. It’s best we mark up any divides between the fish half and the people half as soon as possible because I don’t want us to screw this up and suddenly get a dead mermaid on our hands,”

“That’d be a red ball for the ages, sir.”

“Yes it would be, that’s what I’m trying to say, Crawford. Everyone’s been bitching about their wallet ever since funding got slashed, and I have a feeling this is going to be a huge deal for everything I could possibly think of. Physiology, ichthyology, medicine, genetics, hell, probably even the some of the foundations of biology itself. If we can get as many detailed notes of this thing without actually cutting him open, next thing you know we could have the Nobel Peace Prize staring us in the face.”

The junior biologist nodded and let herself daydream the thought for a minute before glancing behind her at the mermaid’s tank and immediately jumping back with a gasp. 

The stupid thing had his face pressed to the glass, mouth wide open with all three rows of teeth visible, and his gills flapping very, very slowly, like a fish’s version of deep breathing. A second or two more of this made the glass fog up on his side. It seemed like he simply wanted to scare her for some reason. Well, can’t say it didn’t work. Beside the biologist a co-worker stepped forward, still laughing.

“He has a strong personality. Probably loaned it from the human part. Funny thing it is too. Last night we did some cogency tests, like they do with dolphins, and he passed with flying freakin’ colours. Well, second time around he did, anyways. I think the first time around he was trying to play dumb for some reason. One or two of us theorized that he was worried what would happen if he did good right off the bat, so that's definitely bonus points for him. Lemme tell you, the animal behaviourists were shitting themselves, and they were talking about how we should be bringing in human psychologists instead, maybe do both at the same time like a panel,” 

On the table across the room was a custom made checklist with every little thing they could think of for identification and needs:

>   
>  SPECIES: _Homo erectus/Mustelus mustelus_ (up. half H.e., low. half M.m.)  
>  SEX: Male  
>  EYE COLOUR: Blue  
>  HAIR COLOUR: Brown  
>  RACE: White  
>  SHARK SKIN COLOR: Grey-brown w/ white underside on M.m. half  
>  ESTIMATED AGE, ADJUSTED FOR HUMAN LIFESPAN: 24 (NOTE: run tests w/ d. fin spines for complete est.)  
>  SCARS, MARKS, OR WOUNDS: Two (2) deep scratches across left bicep, one (1) scar over forehead near right eye, light bruising on both eyes, abrasions on right side gills, light abrasions on nose bridge (see Dr. Arnold for ref sheet)  
>  DIETARY NEEDS: Crustaceans, fish, supplement w/ vitamins? (see Dr. Song for feed sched.)  
>  KNOWN RELATIVES: N/A  
>  HABITAT REQUIREMENTS: Tank at least 20 ft/6 m deep, water temp at 38 F/2.8 C minimum  
>  HEALTH ISSUES OR CONCERNS: N/A

“Shouldn’t we name this poor schmuck already? I mean, we’ve done just about everything to him except give him a name,”

“Fuck no. Once you name it it’s all over. ‘Sides, we’ve been doing fine with F1209,”

“Yeah but that’s… that’s so formal. Even the orca taggers in Norway actually name new pods they’ve found. Look, we caught a mermaid for the very first time, I think we should respect him by giving him a proper moniker,”

“… Do you really insist-?”

“Hey, wouldn’t you like to have a name? It’s, well, it’s the least we could do for this guy.”

The little wad of researchers looked to the tank where their specimen was now swimming upside down for whatever reason, doing that for a lap or two before righting himself, having another lap, and flipping himself again. Some amongst them would argue he’s bored, others would say he’s just stupid. They heard a sigh of defeat. 

“Fine. We’ll name him. So what do you think it should be, the, uh, name that is?”

The mermaid paused for a second, floating back over to the glass wall and watching their group intently, like he was really trying to listen in on them. An intern made a note to order more cogency tests as soon as possible, tomorrow maybe. But, he opened his mouth to talk about something else instead:

“He, ah, he kind of reminds me of this guy I knew back in college, name was Vincent. He was pretty cool I guess. I don’t know though. It just doesn’t, doesn’t really feel right to me, y’know,”

“Huh. Did he have any nicknames?”

“Actually yeah, kind of. Turned out ‘Vincent’ was actually a full name nickname thing because his name was Gavin. You know. GaVIN. Guy hated that fucking nickname,”

“So you’re saying we write him down as Gavin?”

“I mean, you don’t have to, I’m just offering suggestions here, but I mean… well, he kind of looks like a Gavin to me. I’m just sayin’,”

“Hmmh. Well, if no one else has any other suggestions, F1209 shall be christened under ‘Gavin’ in three, two, one… okay. Super duper. I’ll run this by Miriam before I leave tonight. She’d throw a fit if she found out we changed something without notifying her. Also, Dunn? You’re on tank scrubbing duty tonight. You named him so he’s your responsibility now too.”

Dunn the intern looked at the tank when the group finally disbanded and suddenly realized he wasn’t going to mind his new chores, when he caught “Gavin” giving a little smile towards his way. Sure, it was kind of weird and lopsided because of his mouthful of teeth, but it was a human's smile for sure. 

 

Meanwhile, back in Austin, Michael Jones had topped his own record in swearing when he found out through experience just how much a cast was going to limit his daily routine. Even his latte maker wasn’t safe because it took twice as long to get the ingredients and then make sure he didn’t spill them all over himself like a braindead coma patient. As he put it himself, it was like one arm was a useless, stitched-up tube of ground beef while the other had gained all of the stunning elegance of an oversized rubber dildo (Admittedly I’ve never underwent serious trauma; this is all speculation, although if anyone would like to come forward and confirm the dildo comparison please don't hesitate to do so). It was because he was still a little shaky, a little unsure of himself, and if he stood up too fast he still ran the chance of getting slammed with dizziness out of nowhere. 

And worst of all, every time he went to someone to complain about it they’d remind him that, yes Michael, you were the one who asked to get sent out early even though they told you that you still needed one more blood transfusion, and then he’d get even more upset because fuck, they’re totally right, and then he’d go turn on Netflix and watch small colourful horses for a while or something to stop himself from ripping off his skin out from under the cast. Truth be told, sick leave is only great for the first couple of days, kind of like how when you were a kid you would get the flu on a school day and it was awesome until you had to sit around the house bored shitless and sweating buckets. Probably puking buckets, too.

Michael was almost at that blissful braindead couch potato stage when he got a call from Geoff. It took a few seconds of yoga before he could reach his phone from where he was seated since it was on the opposite side of his bad arm, and when he finally had the damn thing in his hand the call had ended. Luckily Geoff tried a second time before Michael could reach through the screen and strangle him: “Hey there Michael, you doing okay over there?”

“Uh yeah, I’m doin’ fine, just watching some Netflix and chilling out, y’know. Why’d you call me? Is it something important?” 

_Better be important, holy shit_ , though he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so short. Maybe being low on blood does that to you. It’d definitely explain periods, that’s for sure.

“Kinda. We just got a call from uh, some biology department or whatever, and they were asking if you wanted to stop by their labs this Thursday. Don’t ask me why they contacted us first because they didn’t explain anything-“

“Well no shit they didn’t. How the fuck did they even get Rooster Teeth’s business number? Did Gus or Burnie give it to the hospital and they just like, handed it off to the department because they asked or something? Why didn’t they just call me first? I thought I signed off my number at the hospital for contact info,”

There was a faint but familiar din of video game noises and chatter in the background and it made Michael feel a touch of… worksickness, was it? Like when you miss being at your job – but it's understandable that no one has made an official word for it yet.

“Hey man, I’m just telling you what they told me. It is pretty fuckin’ sketchy that they got our contacts and they didn’t try you first, but it’s like some government thing they’re working on, so maybe it’s a Big Brother secret we don’t know about, I don’t know,” 

“Oh yeah, yeah. So, uh, did these people, these government guys, did they tell you where I should go if I wanted to stop by their labs or whatever?” For some reason Michael felt his gut twist up and he had to mentally tell himself to chill. This wasn’t the FBI, this was only a bunch of nerds offering him a chance to drop by for undisclosed reasons that may or may not be related to the dock incident. Yeah. That’s normal, right?

“They told me to have you get in touch with them if you wanted to know anything about it. Again, really fucking weird, but their word, not mine.”

“Okay yeah but what the fuck is that? Jesus Christ, this is like if an insurance company called Rooster Teeth about a wreck that, I don’t fuckin’ know, Miles caused on the interstate and then had _them_ tell Miles that they can’t do anything until he goes first. Like, no. _You_ call the fucking person that’s the problem about it, _you_ talk to them first, and then _you_ do whatever the hell you need to do. This beating around the bush shit is already starting to piss me off, like ‘Oh we aren’t going to tell you this thing and act super-sketch, but we still expect you to talk to us anyways’, _hell no_ ,” 

On the other side of the conversation Geoff wanted to give Michael his best, hardest shrug so badly, but he had to settle with a sigh instead. “I know, I know. Just, just… do whatever you need to, okay. If this is a government thing, go to them, ask them what they want, do it, and move on.”

“But what if they wanna, like, dissect my brain or something? How do you even consent to this?”

Geoff shook his head. “Michael, chill. This isn’t the goddamn X-Files. They’re probably fish scientists and they probably want to talk about the shark that attacked you. It might just be a uh, a Fish and Game thing where they want an official public statement before doing anything else."

“But _why_ , though?” 

“I’m… I don’t know what to tell you, man. I really don’t.”


	4. Mr. Jones and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is given a chance to know what's what. At least as far as that night on the docks is concerned, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, the cable for my Glorious Toshiba Brand Laptop finally failed on me and I had to order a new one online. It was definitely a pain since it disrupted the writing flow I had going on, but at least everything is good and well at the moment.
> 
> As usual, thank you for reading, and please leave any critique, questions, or concerns in the comments below.

It took nearly half an hour after Geoff’s call to decide if he should go to that place, Texas Fields Research and Education Center, but by the time he made his final decision and called it turned out they were already closed to the public for the day. When he pointed out that he wasn’t really a typical civilian and was basically invited, they said regardless that they preferred to keep the midnight oil exclusive to personnel. It helped with Michael’s nerves, but at the same time he hated it because now he just wanted it done and over with. 

_Why am I so nervous about this anyways?_

Well, to be frank, he’s been playing dumb to himself the whole time because he’s had an inkling of an idea for a while now. But remember how he kept second-guessing himself earlier? People-shark hybrids weren’t totally out of the question. At the same time however that answer in particular was so bizarre that it was much easier to dismiss it, lest someone else condemned him as a basket case. After all, what are you supposed to do when the most plausible explanation is also the craziest, anyways? 

Apparently, you talk to the government.

The next day went by a little easier for him since he was able to ring them up, get permission, and get the directions for the specific building he needed to be at without hassle. If anything it was harder to get himself situated in his car, especially when he realized there was a special dilemma: his hurt arm was on the opposite side of the transmission. 

It took some trial and error before Michael could maneuver himself on the roads, but it only took a clipped guardrail and a fresh squirrel pancake for him to get the hang of it. Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the lot of the Texas Fields Research and Education facility, where he drove around the entrance into the back to find a detached little brick box hiding behind it, most likely the one he was supposed to go into. The nerves came back when Michael found himself a place to park and he took a deep breath, almost like a sigh.

_You’re not in trouble, dumbass._

Yet he still jumped in his skin when he heard, “Looks like you left your lights on there.” 

He was led into the back building shortly after shutting those pesky headlights off, trailing behind an older woman wearing jeans and a ratty button-up, probably her field work attire, and he followed her descent into a subterranean facility where he found himself in a nest of papers lined with filing cabinets and sprinkled with knick-knacks. She stopped to scoop up one or two folders from a desk to flip through them briefly before tucking them under her arm and stepping through a door near the back, with Michael following suit.

After that was a room that was more like a walk-in closet than anything else, with a rack of scrubs in sealed bags on one side and heavy duty spaceman suits locked behind plexiglass doors on the other. But before Michael could reach out to take one of the scrubs, his guide shook her head and pointed towards a chamber that had been hollowed out of the wall. “You gotta clean yourself off before you get to do anything in the actual labs. Safety protocol, y’know,” she said.

He rolled his eyes: “Yeah yeah, I get what you’re saying. So do I just strip down and do a quick wishy-wash?”

“Yep. And I guess you can hold that arm of yours out to the side so the water doesn’t hit it. I mean, you’re a big boy. You can figure something out.”

“Right, right. But, uh, you know what they say. Ladies first.”

The woman chuckled, which brought out her age lines even more. Michael realized that she probably wasn’t even that old; maybe the job is that stressful. “But I don’t have to go in there. After this room, you’re flying solo.” 

Michael was horribly close to making a joke about how he didn’t like anyone creeping in on him while he was showering anyways, but she had already turned heel and left, probably to head back into that papery whirlwind. He shook his head, stripped down, stepped into the chamber, and let the torrents of water pour over him, which came down so hard Michael felt like he was getting showered in bullets. But, he couldn’t say he didn’t feel oh-so-sparkly clean when he got out to layer himself in clothes and a fresh set of scrubs that crinkled with every step.

The door to the next room had an air curtain, the kind that activated when the entrance slid open, which was likely another safety measure to make sure any grime wasn’t still stuck after the wash – as if getting sandblasted with water didn’t do the trick the first time. Meanwhile Michael was wondering about the point of being so thorough: what would even be hidden down here to warrant all this?

Bright yellow letters stenciled into the plexiglass panels read: PERSONNEL ONLY and DANGER: BIOHAZARDS PAST THIS POINT. His pulse rose in nervous excitement. 

“Michael Jones? You’re the one who called us earlier right? You’re here on a warrant?” A lab coat called out to him from the other side of the room. She stood up from a wall lined with tables that had several computer screens displaying 3D models of what looked like crayon coloured, warty meatballs.

“Uh, yeah, you guys called me, wanted me to come down for something? Am I in the right place?”

“Yes sir, you’re right where you need to be,” _Oh man._ “Just come with me, we’ll get some stuff cleared up, and then we’ll get to the fun part. The reason why you’re here, I mean.”

“Some stuff” was a stack of six document pages – specifically a contract stating for the recipient to keep the following events undisclosed until some unspecified date, which was a blank for the other party to fill in at their discretion, probably after a signature was given. In retrospect he shouldn't have been too surprised, but Michael still raised an eyebrow at this. “This is, uh, some pretty serious stuff you got goin’ on here. Got documents and everything ready for me,”

“Yeah. It’s a legal thing, y’know. Liability and privacy policies and all. I mean, to be honest, we’d do a lot of the same thing if we had someone from another research centre come in to compare data. Just go to the last page and sign at the bottom and we’ll get started.” The (professor?) (scientist?) (researcher?) said, pulling a pen from a pocket on the inside of her coat to hand to Michael.

While Michael fumbled with the process of signing on a nearby table, he asked, “So, why didn’t you guys get that one lady that led me down here to do this?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a legal thing. It’s like, you can tell anyone you want about how you were basically just given a tour of the building, because we get people coming through here weekly anyways, but the moment I hand you those papers, you gotta keep your mouth shut.” She took the pen back from Michael when he was finished and slipped it back into her pocket. “You ready?” 

He nodded and she turned to walk towards the back of the room where a hallway was cut into the wall, and suddenly Michael got a headache trying to think about the layout of this place, but he followed her in anyways. After a few moments of passing through the dim light, they went through another pair of sliding doors to end up in something that, as far as Michael knew, shouldn't have been anywhere remotely near a research centre. 

“That’s a tank.”

By far this room was the largest of them all, thanks to the several hundred gallon tank that towered in the middle like a gently glowing blue column. It was flanked by slender, futuristic filters that slid directly up its sides and computer monitors on wheels like the ones the nurses at the hospital pushed around. The light fixtures hovering directly above the structure were on their lowest setting, which gave the water a somewhat murky look about halfway down. Michael’s eyes automatically scanned for residents. He saw none. Then he heard the low hum of powerful engines at work and the bubbling roil of water being shoved through closed spaces. He realized that near the top, a pipe about five feet around was attached at the back, while a current was being jettisoned through it. He assumed it was another filter, but beside him he heard, "Ready to meet the thing that attacked you?" 

A hydraulic hiss, a final burst of bubbles, and a slender black figure shot through the pipe and into the main tank. It took a second for Michael to realize what he was looking at, or to realize what was just said to him.

“Took ‘em a while to flush him out, but there he is: your fishy assailant.”

“The… that’s the fucker who fucked up my arm?” In the wake of shock his mouth went on autopilot, which he cringed at immediately after. The professor/researcher/biologist/Dr. Researchologist just laughed. 

“Yep, that’s the fucker alright. We’ve been keeping him here for a month now. Y’see why I made you sign that confidentiality agreement now?”

Michael only nodded, still staring at the mermaid (mermaid!) sliding around the inside of the tank as smoothly as a hot knife through butter. He noticed how he was staring right back and felt his heart cram itself into his throat. The best comparison he could come up for it later was like how fishermen who encountered whales would get choked up with fear, respect, and awe all at the same time in a clusterfuck of emotion.

“But, but why didn’t you let him go? I mean, why don’t you release him already?” 

“It’s just… well, when you find something so rare, something that’s only existed in fairy tales, you want to know it exists. You want to remember it forever, maybe understand it if you can. That’s what we’ve been trying to do here. We’re still running tests on him, everything from MRIs to eye exams. We just wanna know what makes Gavin tick, basically,”

He snorted. “You named him?"

She let out a nervous chuckle. “Well, yeah. One of our interns bugged us about doing that and suggested Gavin because it reminded him of a guy he knew in college or whatever. I mean, not to get too informal, but he said it was the least we could do for him. Like free room and board wasn’t enough…”

The mermaid was still circling the tank, slowly spiraling his way towards the bottom, eventually reaching eye level with his upright audience but still doing laps. In the dim lighting Michael couldn’t see all too much of his face, but he could definitely make out a beaky nose that he got a good chuckle at, because mermaids were supposed to be as graceful and streamlined as could be. Yet at the same time, he still demanded respect with his nine foot long body and what looked like mouth full of horrible, gleaming sharp teeth. Michael took a step closer to the plexiglass tower in spite of himself. Gavin slowed his swimming pace, never coming to a complete stop. The human also felt a pang of surprise; how human he is! Blank prey eyes were nowhere to be seen, and though he moved with the current nothing suggested that he was powerless to it. In fact, something gave Michael a feeling of how there was a complete autonomy behind his will, yes, very much like him. So, between man and myth and gallons of water, they struck up a grudging equal respect, at least in Michael’s mind anyways. Not like he was going to dole out forgiveness anytime soon for nearly losing a chunk of himself to that thing, but still. 

“Hey you dumb asshole. You got the news stations fired up, got yourself a little taste of the limelight. Got me in the hospital, too. You happy there, buddy?” He murmured under his breath.

There wasn’t a response, but Michael could tell that Gavin rolled his eyes before swimming back up. He asked if he could stop by again soon, and Dr. Researchologist, who was actually Dr. Presnell, gave him the okay for it. Then he asked if he could come tomorrow and was told no, because they were going to be transporting Gavin to Texas State Aquarium in the morning. But is that actually, like, ethical? Well, we don't really know. I guess we'll find out soon enough.


	5. You Arrived (But Now It's Time To Kiss Your Ass Goodbye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statistics and philosophies can't hold your hand forever, y'know. But he still needs some time to figure that out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, the last chapter was pretty cringe-tastic as far as quality went. Goes to show you should never force yourself to create if you can't put love into it. Anyways, here's a new chapter fresh from the keyboard. Hopefully it'll be worth the while. And speaking of chapters, I've been wondering lately if I should combine every two pre-existing chapters into one thing because the length of each individual one is pretty short, but that'd mean extra time spent on editing and that's just... nah. Nah.
> 
> As always, feel free to read, and please leave any comments, questions, or critique down below.

Geoff was playing a spooky game with the rest of the AH crew the next room over. Michael could tell because of all the yelling and comments about how “that room looks shitty” coming through the wall, which he could hear just fine even with his headphones on. Now Geoff was walking backwards. How many times has he done that by now? Jack asked. Probably at least a half dozen, Michael answered in his brain.

He didn’t join in on the fun this time since he had work to do – specifically, he was editing a nice little pile of footage recorded from a Minecraft session (natch) which was dumped in his lap the moment he said he was feeling up to being back at the office. Curtesy of Ryan of course. Apparently, the end goal was to make sure Michael wasn’t getting cozied up to the idea of being a lazyass, but right now all he was feeling was glad that it wasn’t his dominant side that got fucked up. 

He stopped on a frame of Jack’s avatar flailing around in the water while surrounded by squids. He rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, blinked them once or twice. He was suddenly reminded of that mermaid, swimming up towards the heavens in that giant glowing tube of water. First he wondered, did they use that thing for anything other than that one guy? and then he pondered, I wonder how he’s doing today. Didn’t they say something about an aquarium, or taking him to an aquarium? 

Michael smiled at the image of all the greasy little kids dogpiling each other to get to “Ariel’s” tank first, probably causing a kindergarten mosh pit in the process, and then getting there only to be disappointed it was “just” some creepy-looking fish guy. Meanwhile, Michael was simply glad he got to see a real life myth during his time on this weird little hunk of rock. 

Maybe he will see a unicorn next. Maybe when the kids are older they’ll understand.

 _BAM._ More yelling, screaming, noises you probably wouldn’t expect to hear from grown-ass men. And although it made him feel like a moron Michael jumped a little bit too. So he decided to tell them about it. Later on he found out that yeah, the mic did pick up how he banged on the wall while shouting at them to shut the fuck up and that some people were trying to work over here. 

Of course, there wasn’t any actual fire behind it; Michael had missed the office and all its residents’ shenanigans, no matter how dumb they were. Even if they sometimes caused him to accidentally close the window without saving first. Which was when the real yelling started.

 

The hydraulics were borderline deafening, but the mechanics kept turning the valve despite that. In a few more hours the tank would be prepared for its newest resident. Last time they checked they were supposed to be adjusting the pH gauges for a shipment of sunfish, but that must’ve gotten canceled or relocated to somewhere else, because now they were having to flip everything on its side for something that apparently got lost and ended up in the Gulf by accident. They weren’t told what it was, but it was obviously some great big deal because they got a bonus on their paychecks and a meeting with their manager telling them to keep hush-hush about it. 

It worked; it didn’t stop the questions, but it stopped them from asking.

The wheel squeaked with one final turn. A lever was pulled, and there was a dull roar as water rushed through the pipes to crash land into the tank. It would be about thirty minutes until it would be completely full, so the little huddle took the time to take a lunch break, with all but two of them leaving to head down to the snack bar because someone has to be lookout, and then another person has to be _that_ person’s lookout in case something goes wrong or they fuck up. And in a room adorned with so many pipes and wires and buttons and switches, it was a great place to play What Could Go Wrong at any second. 

It wasn’t five minutes after they were left alone that voices wafted down the hall and through the open door. A tiny screen showing security cam footage mounted in the corner showed a gaggle of officials talking amongst themselves. The pair of mechanics chalked it up to finance discussions, or maybe the ramifications of adding another sea horse exhibit, some business crap like that, and they went back to their information sprawl across the displays. Whatever it was, it probably didn't concern them any-

“You think it’ll actually work? Like, the, the whole thing about even moving him to an aquarium? Because I don’t want the animal welfare crazies ridin' our asses right after we open,“

“Relax Gravitt, they can’t actually do anything besides stomp their feet and pout in our general direction. As long as we treat him well, they don’t have any leverage against us and we can go our merry way. Besides, he ain't one hundred percent animal. I don't think they'll care as much,"

“Wait wait wait, treat him well? Some of the biologists weren’t even sure what salinity his tank has to be, and they’re still arguing about what to feed him. They’ve had this thing in captivity for like, a month now. That’s the point where you’re supposed to either give up or have everything straightened out,”

The sound of papers being shuffled. The pair were listening with rapt attention now, eyes darting back and forth between their displays and the screen. 

“Calm down already. It’s a living being, not a plug-and-play.”

“That’s my point, Dr. Savage! They can’t agree on some of his most basic needs, but they’re expecting our aquarium to house him? What happy horseshit is this? … And anyways, is this even ethical?”

There was a pause before someone responded, “Ethical?”

“Yes, ethical! Ethics! The entire point of this establishment. Our marketing team goes on and on about how nicely we treat our animals, how educational of an experience it is, but the state throws a mermaid into our lap and tells us, ‘You can deal with this, right?’ and expects us to, to magically know what to do. I have documents detailing what he was like when they kept him in that research place, but some of the info, some of it was scratched out and written over, and then I see notes talking about seeing Dr. So-and-So about whatever, and I just… professionals _when?_ ” She sighed. “I’m worried that because it’s part human they just ain't caring as much as they should,”

Another pause. This one was much more uncomfortable to sit through than the last. 

"At least we’re getting grants for housing him, right?”

A barely-restrained bark of “Motherfucker!” and the cam feed showed the officials moving through the hallway again, passing by the mechanics nest briskly without looking in. The two were glad at that, since they probably would’ve gotten caught rubbernecking at that little ordeal.

A beep came from one of the panels. The tank was a third full. 

Sunfish were starting to sound like a pretty good idea.

It was two days later when the world’s first ever mermaid exhibit was unveiled to the public in the Dallas World Aquarium, which had probably caused the Earth to tip slightly off its axis from the force of the American biologist’s union all masturbating at the same time. But no matter, Michael almost choked on his latte while his stomach did prize-winning gymnastics off the handle when an article for it popped up on his Facebook feed. Apparently Dr. Presley or whatever wasn’t shitting him after all. Of course, now the question was if he wanted to go see Gavin again. 

Michael frowned and half-shrugged to himself. Even if he wasn't working today, Dallas was a three hour trip from Austin so that’s a definite no. He was also already given a chance to meet him face-to-face not even two weeks ago, and in a relatively private building that wasn’t packed to the gills with assholes, both adults and children alike, so it especially didn't seem worth it to burn through a quarter of a tank to make the drive. Michael sighed, leaned back into his seat. He had clicked on the Facebook article and was preoccupied with skimming through it, but wasn’t that useful to him anyways since it was all cursory information. Basic stuff, at least to him anyways. 

He did smile when he saw how the writer mentioned that the mermaid’s name was Gavin, though.

_No, that’s stupid. Why did I just do that?_

(As you, the homosexual love story consumer, would probably know, the answer should be obvious: he loves Gavin! But I’m afraid I’m going to stop you right there; our protagonist hasn’t been given enough time to do that yet because this isn’t a one-shot and love at first sight doesn’t exist here. Or your author is an old fuddy-duddy.)

Respect then, maybe. As a member of the taxonomy _Homo sapiens_ , he automatically had respect for anything that could snuff out his life like a dollar store tea light and/or was bigger than him. Besides, as weird as it almost definitely was, he loaned himself a sense of... possession, he guessed – after all, as far as Michael knew he got to see Gavin before practically any other civilian did. It was like getting clearance to look at an awesome present while everyone else had to sit in the dark. 

And yeah, even though this was also weird and especially gay, Michael had a sense of connection to the fish man. A few of his co-workers would have a good laugh at that when he’d tell them later, but it was true. What were the odds Gavin had any half-decent human interaction that wasn’t separated by twenty different protective measures? He might have been in his twenties, but there was a good chance most of those years were spent hiding away, designating the night to himself because he probably knew he’d end up in a soup pot if he wasn’t careful.

But now? Now Gavin was going to have to deal with hundreds or even thousands of eyes watching, photographing, recording video of his every little move. At that point surely he’d be less of an individual and more like a breathing photo op.

…

_I’m still not going. Pity is an awful reason to do something._

Michael sighed to himself. Now it was a goddamn tug-of-war between the two parts of his brain, for some reason, because this shouldn’t even be a problem in the first place. Whatever. Maybe he can distract himself with that shiny new copy of Star Wars: Battlefront that got loaned to him yesterday. He was on his way to getting the case when

 _Vrr vrr, vrr vrr._

Of course not.

 **Geoff:** _Hey, are you going to go see that mermaid guy in Dallas?_

Well. _Well_. Does he really have a choice by now?

Type type type, send… _Can’t. Still have a lot of stuff to catch up on._

It was a few seconds before Michael’s phone went off again. Guess Geoff wasn’t doing shit either.

 **Geoff** : _Wow, so much nothing all at once must be really exhausting._

Type type typing type: _Woah, hold up man, where’s all this sass coming from?_ when Michael suddenly got a second consecutive message, _Griffon and Millie have been hounding me to go take them to that aquarium ever since this morning. I know it’s a long drive, do you want to come with us?_

Despite that previous self-doubt, Michael absolutely wasn’t the kind of bastard to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if he thought the reason for accepting that gift horse in the first place was kind of flimsy. 

That was how he found himself loaded up in the Ramsay’s car, and then deposited in the lot of Dallas World Aquarium forty minutes before they were supposed to close. The building was still a bit thick with guests, but it wasn’t like everyone was having to breathe the same air as hundreds of other people, and the best part was that the most of them were coming by to do a complete tour of the aquarium instead of bottlenecking around the one exhibit and then bailing (Griffon had at one point heard a staff member talking to another about how it wasn’t that all bad though; just take them where they need to be, then herd them out when they’re done twenty minutes later. You’ll be getting their money no matter what anyways).

For the Ramsays and Michael, the original plan of action was to walk through the building until they got to the mermaid exhibit because they wanted to get as much out of their tickets as they could before the place closed, because fifty six and twenty dollars plus tax doesn't really grow on trees. But since little kids don’t work that way, they ended up going straight to the main attraction. And Michael had to stop himself from mentioning the research centre and its pillar of blue that had served as Gavin’s home, because now he was living in a penthouse compared to that. 

In short, it was an enourmous, all-consuming tank that had an archway right through the middle so the inhabitant/s could swim right over your head without a care. A typical shark exhibit if you will. 

“Go fucking figure…” Griffon muttered under her breath when she saw the resident star himself himself, Gavin, calmly glide by without bothering to even look at them. Michael wondered that if he just turned his head two inches to the left if he would recognize him. For a second he wanted to tap on the glass to get Gavin’s attention, but years of common sense, literacy, and being a polite human being told him not to, and it didn’t hurt that a tired-looking employee was standing to the side, eyeing them to make sure no one had the urge to do exactly that. 

“You fuckin’ moron…” 

“Michael? You okay over there buddy?” Geoff asked.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just, that fish guy, he looks really dumb, you know?” 

Smoother than an oil slick.

Geoff gave him a baffled look before turning back to Millie, who was staring at Gavin with eyes as big as the moon, if not bigger. “Whatever you say man.”

It took another minute for the mermaid to indeed look towards their way, and it was only for a second. But Michael still felt his heart skip a beat a bit when it happened. Maybe this was how Captain Ahab felt when he finally met his quarry face-to-face, just without the harpoons and the whole deal about being miles out into the sea with the omniscient threat of death. Michael’s stitches itched when Gavin made eye contact again, and nothing betrayed how it was obvious that he remembered him. Gavin pushed himself closer to them. The Ramsays watched on in awe.

“Looks like he likes you, Michael.” 

“Yeah. Probably wants to bust through the glass and eat me. Or Millie (“Michael!”)… I bet Geoff is too old to eat though. Meat’s probably like, all tough and stringy and crap,”

While he was going on about the properties of Geoff’s meat, the mermaid was still swimming closer to his side of the glass. Every single person in the building was being kept alive by ten inches separating them from a watery grave, Geoff realized, and it made him a little anxious all of a sudden. But before they knew it Gavin was already there, hands right up against the pane with surprisingly blue eyes gazing down upon them. The gills on his neck flared harder while his tail swayed back and forth like a fleshy pendulum. Sharks weren’t supposed to stay in one place for long, yet there he is. 

The employee keeping watch became tense. There wasn’t any real reason to be afraid, but he was used to inhabitants who were too stupid to know when feeding time was, let alone acknowledge their visitors. He was around when the company tried integrating a beluga breeding programme, but that was different because half the time it was like they were too busy being bored to actually care. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, the mermaid has shown nothing but awareness ever since it was brought over. 

On the other hand it had never gotten this close before either. He kept his finger over the call button on his radio just in case.

“Hey, you dumb British idiot,” Michael said under his breath. _That’s where you’re from, right Gavin? Like, the coast of Britain? I wonder if he talks like a pompous asshole too. Does he even have vocal chords?_

Being this close to him, his heart was still pounding in his ears, like the last scrap of adrenaline from the night on the docks was finally coming back to haunt him. And this time the tank was rather well-lit so he got to see Gavin in glorious high definition, from the claws on the tips of his fingers where nails should’ve been to the tiny ridge running down his sides. The sign nearby called them his lateral lines. He could probably count the first row of teeth from where he stood if he wanted to, but he had plenty of time to guesstimate that number in that hospital bed.

The creature of the sea rested his forehead against the glass for a moment with pale eyes almost boring into Michel, before pushing himself off and swimming away into the currents that he apparently called his home away from home. His gills were pushing even harder now with a steady but desperate beat and Geoff realized something else, that this was probably Gavin’s equivalent of hyperventilating. Above almost everything else the implications of that was what made him the most awestruck.

“I wonder if he was studying you too. Sure did look like it,” Griffon said to Michael as they went through the rest of the aquarium, even though Millie couldn’t stop talking about that mermaid. After all, the mightiest spider crab, the swiftest sea lion, the squishiest jellyfish, all of them paled in comparison to the hybridization of man and shark despite how so many of his information signs were longhand question marks. And if Michael had to be honest with himself, he probably could’ve stayed there under that great glass tunnel for far, far longer than he did. So when he got home he found himself holding more questions now than ever, just like everybody else, but he had the feeling that in a way the answers somehow closer to him. He wasn’t sure how they were and he didn’t know what he could do that the cavalry of biologists and government officials couldn’t, but that feeling persisted anyways despite how hundreds of gallons of water were keeping him away from those answers. It was the biggest pain in the ass ever. 

_Goddamn, Geoff was right. I really must be turning into a fucking Disney princess._

Four days later Michael had made the decision to do one of two things: go back to the aquarium or stop by the research centre again. It was a matter of gas money or paperwork, which were equally annoying in his eyes, but no matter, because when he booted up his computer it turned out that Gavin’s exhibit had already been closed off for good and Google was coming up with news article after news article about the ongoing debate about the ethicality of keeping something so sapient in a giant container. One commentator compared it to SeaWorld and the phrase “soggy human” was used. 

_Vrr vrr, vrr vrr._

**Griffon:** _Sorry to hear that your ocean man got shut down. Millie’s pretty torn up about it too._


End file.
